Of Grey Hair And Crow's Feet
by QueenOfThePolarBears
Summary: They are older than they ever expected to be, and with age comes a few other things. (In an AU in which Madara never left Konoha, and him and Hashirama have had a long, happy(ish) life together. Fluffy and grumpy old men HashiMada.)


i wrote this for nicky last night because she was giving me old man HashiMada feels and i felt the need to write something about these dorks so i did uvu;

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 **Of Grey Hair and Crow's Feet**

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They are older than either of them ever expected to be. Fifty-two. A near legendary age, considering the time that they had been born into. Neither of their fathers had made it to this age, and the fact that either of them had is astounding. Especially when one took into account the many, many, close calls that both had had throughout their lives. They are both retired now though, for all intents and purposes (A shinobi never actually retires. They only stop going on missions. Neither him nor Madara are about to give up over half a century's worth of habits so easily, despite what they may say.), and Hashirama had passed on the mantle of Hokage years previous, despite Madara's grumblings over the matter.

It is in the light of morning, as Madara is still feigning sleep despite the sun that is shining in through the window onto their entwined bodies. (It has been so many years now, but Hashirama still feels a thrill every time he wakes to Madara in his bed with him. He does not think that that feeling will ever go away.) He grumbles as Hashirama shifts, but settles down again as the Senju begins to run fingers through his hair. The light hits it and makes it shine, having been freshly washed and brushed only the previous night, a bi-weekly ritual that has entered their lives since they calmed down some. The light catches a few stray hairs in an odd way though, and Hashirama picks them out from the rest, holding them up to the light, and then he grins widely when he realizes what it is. He chuckles, trying, and failing, not to disturb the Uchiha, who grumbles, and sits up from where he had previously been hugging the Senju's waist.

"What are you laughing at so early, idiot?" he asks, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he blinks lazily at the other man. Hashirama grins, and holds the few hairs up for Madara to see, being careful not to pull them out.

"Your hair is starting to go grey," he says, and Madara blinks, before grabbing at the strands of hair, staring at them, then ripping them out as he scowls down at them, before tossing them off to the side.

"So is yours," he snaps up at the brunet, reaching up and tugging at one of the thin, but obvious, streaks of silver that have begun to decorate his own hair this past year. He shrugs, not minding them, before his grin widens and he cups Madara's face, leaning down closer to him, brushing their noses together.

"I don't have crows feet though," he murmurs, and kisses the edges of the Uchiha's eyes where said wrinkles have started to show, ignoring his deepening scowl (and the lines that bracket his mouth deepening with it).

"You're going senile, Senju," Madara mutters, but he does not pull away, and Hashirama laughs softly and presses a soft, lazy kiss to his lips that is reciprocated, and lasts for what seems like forever, but is over in only a few gentle moments.

"I think I have a good few years left in me yet, thank you," he says, a hint of a pout touching his face as Madara snorts and mutters something about Hashirama having gone senile back when he was still young obviously, as he begins the task of untangling himself from their mess of blankets in order to get a start on the day. Hashirama smiles softly as he stretches his own body, beginning to pop and creak with age at certain movements, and climbs out of their bed, figuring, just like every other morning before this one, that he might as well get breakfast started while Madara hogs the washroom.

The chirping of the birds outside are particularly cheerful sounding this morning, and Hashirama thinks that he will take a walk through the village, that continues to grow and bloom as the years pass, after breakfast. He decides that he will see if Madara wishes to accompany him this morning once the Uchiha has stumbled into the kitchen, still trying to remove the last dredges of sleep from his face as he stretches, arching his back like a cat, and not bothering to cover his mouth as he yawns.

They might be older now, older than they had ever expected to grow to be, but they are happy (despite Madara's protests and scowls), and Hashirama does not think that he would change anything in his life for the world. Greying hair, crow's feet, and all.


End file.
